Chapter Eight

 

 

Callum

 

On a list of the worst places to be stuck with a raging headache, a rigid chair in a drafty ballroom waiting for an hour-long portrait sitting was in the top five. Just behind being on a sailboat on a choppy lake, or in a classroom at college taking an ill-prepared-for final.

Callum wearily rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Even that slight motion brought a pounding to his forehead that made him woozy enough to fall off the chair. His hangover was a rough one. No denying that. But it wasn’t the only source of his pain that drizzly gray morning.

“None of her referrals mentioned problems with tardiness.” His mother checked her watch, pacing from side to side along the windows. “For heaven’s sake, it’s thirty-three minutes past. Where is she?”

Callum needed an aspirin and a dark room. He did not need his mother’s shrill voice echoing around the ballroom. If only he could sleep. Then he’d escape from the pain in his head. Then he could forget what had happened the night before.

“Callum, dear?”

He blinked open a bleary eye and looked over at his mother, standing with a stern expression and crossed arms.

“Well?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well what?”

His mother huffed and rolled her eyes. “Well, where is she?”

She was assessing him as he shrugged and took comfort in what little darkness the refuge of his hands provided.

“I have no idea, Mother,” he grumbled, knowing she’d reprimand him for mumbling.

“Your father never mumbled.”

Then she continued to spout speculations as to where in the world Miss Priscilla Rose could possibly be, how rude it was to keep them waiting, and insisting that when Miss Rose did eventually arrive, she’d be thoroughly chastised by the mother of the Duke.

However, Callum knew she’d never get the chance to utter whatever harsh words she’d prepared. Miss Rose wouldn’t be walking through those doors anytime soon that miserable morning. Miss Rose was long gone. However far she could have gotten from him, she’d most certainly gotten.

No, Callum would never be seeing Molly Lane ever again, not after he’d pulled away from her at the pub. Of that he was certain.

And then she walked through the door.

 

* * *

 

Molly

 

Yesterday, Molly had learned her lesson, so she woke up before the first rays of morning light poked through her window. She shoved her things in her bag, dragged her fingers hastily through her hair, and wiped away as much smudged mascara as she could from underneath her eyes.

It being so early, it was easy to sneak out of the castle. The only time she had to duck behind a column was when a maid suddenly emerged from a linen closet. The foyer’s marble floor made her boots echo loudly, but no one came running.

Soon enough, she had open sky above her and miles of gravel road ahead of her. However, the sounds of rocks crunching or mud squelching under her feet did little to drown out her relentless thoughts.

How could she have been so stupid?

She hoped that the more distance she put between herself and this castle, the less time she’d have to keep reliving that moment in the pub over and over again.

But she was already more than a mile away and still kept smacking her forehead and shaking her head. There was no longer any reason to worry about it. She’d make it into the town of Kelso and head right for the train station to Edinburgh, where she’d catch her flight. She’d definitely feel better with the Atlantic Ocean between her and the Duke. After that, the only time she’d ever see him again was if she one day Googled him.

Well, those hopeful plans soon changed.

A black sedan appeared from the direction of Kelso, kicking up dirt along the winding country road. Molly shifted to the side to let it pass, then was surprised to find it slowing down. It came to a full stop right beside her. She had just enough time to wonder where she’d stored her pepper spray, when the window rolled down and Mack leaned over to smile at her.

“Morning, love,” he said in his gruff but amiable Scottish accent. “Just coming back with some breakfast from Mary’s Bakery.”

“Oh.” She smiled back, ready to continue on. “That’s nice.”

Mack’s eyes traveled to her backpack and he frowned. “What are you up to so early this misty morn?”

She hoped one positive of this whole fiasco was that perhaps her horrendous lying skills had improved.“Out for a walk,” she tried.

The doubt written all over Mack’s face immediately informed her she hadn’t fooled him. Great.

“You’ve got your whole big pack on your shoulders,” he pointed out, nodding as if it had gotten there by accident.

“Um, right.” She was stalling for time to think of something other than I made a pass at the Duke and he rejected me.

Mack was still waiting.

“Um, right, yeah,” she said again with a defeated sigh. “It’s strength training.”

“Strength training, Miss Rose?” He sounded half impressed and half dubious.

“Yep, that’s what I said.”

Why she said it, she had no idea. She glanced down the road and glimpsed the church steeple in Kelso. It was so close. But as she smiled back at Mack, it felt further and further away.

“Just extra weight, I guess,” she explained.

“Well, that’s really lovely, but aren’t you supposed to be in the ballroom right now? I believe we agreed to eight, no?”

Molly was trapped. “Shit. Lost track of time. I’ll head back right now.”

She turned to walk back toward the castle and prayed that Mack would drive on to meet her there.

“That’s ridiculous.” He laughed. “Hop in.”

“I guess there’s no saying ‘no?’” she joked with a forced smile, even though it was no joke at all.

“The Duke will be eager to see you Miss Rose, I’m sure.”

She begrudgingly opened the door and sank into the passenger seat.

She wasn’t sure ‘eager’ would be the word the Duke used.

Surely he’d be horrified.

Just as horrified as he’d seemed when she’d tried to kiss him.

 

* * *

 

Callum

 

During the entire hour-long portrait session, Molly didn’t look at Callum one single time. She did paint him, yes, or at least it looked like that was what she was doing, but her soft blue eyes never once fell upon his face.

From his seat, Callum had watched her come into the ballroom behind Mack and march straight to the easel. It had already been set up with canvas and her table of paints and brushes. She’d looked at Mack when she’d politely declined the croissants he’d bought from Mary’s in town. She’d made eye contact with his mother during her gracious and humble apology for her tardiness.

But for him, there’d been no such acknowledgements.

She’d hidden behind the canvas and busied herself with cleaning her brushes and mixing her paints again and again. Callum wasn’t an artist, but no paint needed to be mixed that aggressively for that long.

When the session was over, Molly had thanked both Mack and his mother. Then she had dashed out of the ballroom without so much as a glance his way, let alone a goodbye.

He considered letting her go. Even if things between them hadn’t ended the way he would have liked them to end, the fact remained: they had to end. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he’d done as he needed to do. After rambling on about what kind of man he wanted to be, he’d behaved like the man he needed to be. He’d maintained his control where Molly Lane was concerned.

But even as his mind ran through the logical reasons why he’d acted correctly in pulling away from her kiss last night, his feet were already ignoring them.

“Callum?” his mother called as he quickly strode past her. “Where in the devil are you off to in such a hurry?”

He waved her away and strode into the main hallway of the castle. Empty. He heard an echo to the left and jogged along the corridor, jumping down the stairs three at a time and finally, halfway down the stone hallway, spotting blonde curls.

“Molly!”

She must have heard him, but she ignored him all the same. He increased his pace and called her name again. Again she failed to acknowledge him in the slightest—not by the turn of her head, or a dismissive wave, or a frustrated groan.

“Molly.”

She marched on.

At last, he caught up to her and gently grabbed her wrist, moving his body around to face her. She averted her eyes and twisted her arm free while he knelt down to make eye contact. She moved to step around him but he blocked her path, holding his hands up in the universal sign for surrender.

“One moment. Just wait.”

She shook her head and maneuvered her way around him, her feet echoing as she continued down the stone corridor.

“Just listen to me for two minutes. Please.”

This plea, too, was ignored. It was making his extraordinary self-control weaken. Every reverberation from her footsteps moving further and further away from him was like a crack forming in his own stone wall. The stone wall he’d tried so hard to keep erect and which Molly seemed hell-bent on tearing down.

The next time he spoke, it wasn’t in the same tone he’d used to call her name before. That voice hadn’t worked. It had been too reserved, meek, tame. Now, he unleashed a voice that was forceful, almost savage. Reflective of the beast he’d tried to contain but no longer could.

“Miss Lane, you will stop.”

She paused mid-step. Good. That did it.

She still faced away from him, but her body was frozen. It was the strength of her will against the strength of his command. The rationality in her mind raging against the yearning of her heart.

She looked slowly over her shoulder.“What did you just say to me?”

Suddenly, a weight lifted from his shoulders, all burdens released from his smothering grip. The shackles were gone. He moved toward her. Again, he felt the strength of the muscles in his arms, the power of his intimidating height, the way his body moved like the deadliest of mountain lions. She was his prey. And he was free to hunt once more.

His voice was low and dangerous. “I said, you will stay right where you are.”

But her eyes were not the eyes of a frightened deer. They were not wide with terror or paralyzed in shock or flitting to and fro with white hot adrenaline.

As Callum drew near to her, near enough that he could smell her, like a rainstorm in the sweltering heat of a summer’s night, he could see clearly that her eyes were the furthest thing from the eyes of prey.

They were calm. They were studying him, watching him, anticipating him. The blue of her irises, dark in the dim light of the hallway, steadily followed his movements as he circled her. Her hands, held loosely at her sides, didn’t tremble. She didn’t flinch when his finger reached out to skim the swell of her ass as he circled behind her. Every time he crossed back in front of her, her eyes met his, daring, confident, waiting.

“My portrait is not finished,” Callum said.

The words slipped from his lips barely above the volume of a whisper in that empty hallway, but they were said with authority, as if he’d shouted them from the depths of his lungs. Behind Molly, he tugged at a particularly perfect blonde curl at the base of her neck. He found her teeth sinking into her lower lip as he moved in front of her, still holding her hair, and checked her eyes. Her pupils grew wide as she met his gaze, unblinking.

“Were you intending to leave me unfinished, Miss Lane?” he asked, giving an extra tug to her hair.

She smacked his hand away and stared right into his eyes.

“I am not your artist, Your Grace. Have you forgotten that?”

There was a challenge to the way she stood, the way she questioned him. He looked her up and down, from head to toe, and held his hands behind his back as he continued again to walk around her. He wanted to touch her, to rip her clothes away, to claw at her exposed neck like a rabid dog. But not yet.

“I am the Duke of this castle.” He leaned closer to whisper into her ear. “I decide who my artist is and is not.”

He hoped his breath sent chills down her spine. He hoped there was strain already growing between her thighs. He hoped she was a spring, held down, tension growing and growing, ready to pop. Just like him.

“And when the real Priscilla Rose comes knocking on your door?” Molly raised an eyebrow as he passed in front of her again. “What then, Your Grace?”

Every time she called him that he felt a groan growing in his chest, an urge twitching at his fingertips, a rush of blood traveling to his cock. Because he hated it, but he also loved it. Hated it because the title was a barrier between them, a reminder of who he was and why he couldn’t have her. Loved it, because she didn’t say it with the deference that was due to him, but to taunt him. To push him. And pushing him past his limits was certainly something she did well.

“I’ll tell her she certainly must be an imposter,” Callum said. “I’ll tell her Priscilla Rose has blonde curly hair, about to here.”

Callum unlinked his hands to skim one pinky along Molly’s collarbone.

“I’ll tell her that she couldn’t possibly be Priscilla Rose, because Priscilla Rose has boots falling apart and T-shirts with holes. Priscilla Rose’s nose wrinkles slightly when she smiles and laughs. I’ll tell her I’ve seen the real Priscilla Rose and those are not her eyes. Her eyes are blue and see the world in a way no one else does.”

She was hanging on to his every word, waiting as he studied her body with a tilted head. His voice got even softer.

“I’ll tell her that I’ve seen the body of the real artist and it looks something like this.”

He traced the air just millimeters above her arms, her waist, down along her legs, even the space just between her thighs. She raised an eyebrow.

“So, that’s why I must stay then, Your Grace?” she asked, this time taking a small, somewhat timid step closer to him, his title falling from her lips not sarcastically, but softly, seductively. “The sole reason I must stay is to paint your grand portrait?”

A devilish spark lit her eyes just as much as anger. Her chest just barely pressed against his, just enough for him to know she was there, that she was real. All he had to do was reach for her.

He remained silent, controlling his breath and willing his hips not to thrust against her crotch.

“That must be it,” she said softly. “Because I know it’s not because I drive you crazy. I know it’s not because you want to touch me. You don’t want me to stay here because you want me to scream out ‘Your Grace, Your Grace, Your Grace’ as I come. If that was the reason, you would have kissed me back at the pub.”

Her voice was like silk wrapped around his neck, tightening, choking him, choking the man he’d been pretending to be.

“You didn’t scrape your fingers down my chest when I stood naked before you, you didn’t bite at my neck, you didn’t even rub your throbbing erection against my hip, so I know the reason you want me to stay here in your castle cannot possibly be that you want to ravage me, make me tremble under your touch, cause me to beg for more and more and still more.”

Callum’s dress shoes scuffed against the stone floor as Molly forced him back another step. He could just make out the flutter of her heart against his chest as she pressed her tits closer. He was sure his was beating twice as fast.

“When you had me pinned against that tree, out on that country road, and there wasn’t a soul in sight…” Her breath caught and Callum knew she was remembering it, the feeling of him standing over her, dominant and powerful. “I was helpless against you,” she whispered, “I wanted you to take me, up against the tree or down in the mud. Hell, you could have fucked me on your horse in the rain, and I would have flung my head back in ecstasy.”

She looked up at him and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold back from heaving her up into his arms and crashing his lips into hers.

“So I know,” she said, lifting her chin higher, meeting his eyes, “I just know you don’t want me to stay here for any other reason than to paint your fucking portrait. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”

There was resignation in her eyes, but hope, too. A flicker of hope. Callum’s hand almost shook from the effort of restraining himself for so long as he slipped it behind Molly’s neck. He felt her skin shiver as he lowered his head to hers and kissed her softly. At the pub, her kiss had been like a shock of lightning. It had left him trembling for hours and hours after. This kiss was smooth like whiskey, but still it left his lips buzzing when he pulled away to stare into her eyes.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

Callum twisted his fingers into the sides of her sweatshirt. He clung to it as if he was hanging over a rocky ravine and the gray cotton in his grip was the only thing keeping him from plummeting to the bottom. Molly’s feet relented when he urged her backwards and against the stone wall of the hallway.

“Tell me,” she gasped as his fingers twisted tighter in her sweatshirt. “Say it.”

His breath came in stutters as he drowned in the light from her eyes. She reached a hand around him, grabbed his ass, and pulled his crotch tight against her. Callum bit into the flesh of his cheek to hold back the groan when she devilishly rolled her hips against his erection. Slowly and yet urgently, she repeated the motion.

“Say I want to lose control with you,” she urged with a desperation mirroring his own. “Tell me. I need to hear it.”

Her fingers snaked up his back. The collar of his control was fraying, each strand spiraling loose, the threads coming undone one by one. It was barely wrapped around his neck as Molly buried her hands in his hair and yanked.

“Tell me,” she said with a weighty finality, “or you’ll have to find yourself another artist, Your Grace.”

Those last two words from those pink lips, still wet and shining from his kiss, undid him. He nudged her head to the side and nipped her neck, and she hissed. “Callum. My name is Callum. Say it.”

“I…no…”

“Say it, Molly.”

She sighed. “Callum.”

“That’s right. I’m both Your Grace and Callum. I want you to call me both. Your Grace in public. Callum when we’re alone. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re right. I do want to lose control with you,” he said, looking at the red marks he had left along her goose-bumped skin. “I don’t want to hold myself back.”

“Then don’t,” she breathed, clinging to his shoulders.

“I want to take you apart.”

“Yes.”

“I want to rip and bite and tear.”

“Yes, Callum, please. Yes.”

Hearing his name come again from her lips in that breathy, desperate tone… He tugged down the collar of her sweatshirt, groaning at the obstacle to her naked, searing skin, and sucked at her clavicle. “I want to dominate you completely and utterly and unquestionably.”

She sagged against the wall but he pinned her tighter and tighter against the stones.

“Callum,” she whispered, and this time Callum didn’t hold himself back from grinding his cock against her, growling at the delicious friction.

He lifted her, one hand under her ass and the other against her back, and moved to push her against a door just a few feet to the left. He held her there and used one hand to fish a key from his back pocket before fumbling behind her back to insert the key into the lock. As the handle came down and the door swung open, he stumbled with her in his arms into a quiet hallway lit by weak morning light filtering through an arched window of stained glass at the end. Locked doors lined the stone walls behind which the many treasures of Floors Castle were stored. No one but him had the key.

He kicked the door shut with his foot as she held his face between her two hands.

“Fuck me,” she said, the blue of her eyes nothing but a sliver around her blown wide pupils.

He lowered her to the ground and stepped back to lean against the far wall.

“Take off your shoes,” he commanded.

She slipped them off and flung them further down the small hallway. He watched her, tugging at his belt.

“Now your top.” His voice was thick with lust, and she wasn’t even naked yet.

She grabbed her sweatshirt hem and tugged it over and off her head. He palmed at his dick over the material of his pants, his eyes only on her. Underneath, she wore a skimpy lace bralette, through which he could see the full shape of her breasts, the quiver of her breath, the peaks of her straining nipples. She tossed the sweatshirt into the short distance between them and waited.

“Your pants.”

As she undid the single button of her jeans, Callum undid the ones lining the front of his shirt. He kicked off one shoe, but stopped before kicking off the other, just to watch Molly shimmy her hips out of her jeans.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as she looked back up at him, standing in just her bra and underwear.

He dragged his shirt off his shoulders and stepped out of his other shoe. The pressure of his erection against his pants throbbed painfully. He closed the distance between them and saw the flash in Molly’s eyes as he again pinned her against the wall. Her eyes fluttered closed when he pressed his length against her bare stomach.

“Do you care much for this?” he asked her, snapping the strap of her bra against her collarbone.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Callum nodded before gripping the edge of each lace cup and ripping it in two. Molly stared indignantly up at him with shocked eyes, and he thought she might slap him, hoped she might slap him. But he could see in the way her bare tits heaved and the way her nipples hardened in the air’s chill that it turned her on. Suddenly, her hands were against his chest, her fingertips hot as she shoved him backwards until he slammed against the stone wall.

Her fingers grappled at the button and zipper of his pants and then yanked roughly. A long tear ripped through the expensive slacks. His cock sprang free, but his relieved groan was cut short when Molly’s fingers wrapped around his shaft.

“Did you care much for those?” she asked, her eyebrow raised mischievously.

“Very much so,” he groaned.

His hips thrust into her grip. She gave a test stroke and his breath caught.

“Are you going to take me to the dungeons?” she asked.

She waited for his reaction as she again moved her hand up and down his length. She gave a quick twist over the head of his cock, making him swear.

“I had a different…punishment in mind,” he managed to say as her hand moved faster.

He laid his hand on her shoulder’s hot skin and pressed down. She smiled and glanced down at his cock. She then lowered herself down to her knees, and Callum couldn’t help but throw his head back against the wall. He looked down at her hot tongue dragging along his balls.

“Have I been bad, Callum, Your Grace?” she asked sweetly, kissing the tip of his head.

He grinned at her use of his name and title, and groaned. “You have no idea.”

More words, nasty, dirty, filthy words, slipped from Callum’s lips as Molly started sucking his dick, but he had little recollection of what he was saying as the long-denied pleasure coursed through his entire body. One of her hands held the base of his cock and the other cupped his balls, rolling the sack between her fingers. She grinned up at him with her tongue along the base of his shaft and his head against the back of her throat. He wasn’t even sure if it was English that poured forth. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all if a Scottish Gaelic swear word echoed about the empty hallway. He was losing his mind.

A long ragged groan escaped him when Molly’s hand ghosted down his thigh and disappeared. When he looked down and saw her hand between her legs, he gritted his teeth and pounded his fists against the stone to keep from coming straight down her throat. With hazy eyes he watched as she sucked his cock, fingering herself on her knees below him. Her curls clung to the sheen of sweat across her forehead and her eyelashes looked impossibly long with her eyes closed as she bobbed her head along his length. He was too late to stop his hips from thrusting forward into her mouth, but she merely smiled up at him, lips wrapped around his head.

Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer with her hot, wet tongue on him, he tapped on her shoulder and his cock fell from her mouth.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” she asked, defiantly standing up.

Her hand still worked at her pussy and her breath came in little gasps from her shining, red lips. As he stepped forward, she stepped back, moaning as her fingers moved faster. He stepped forward again. She stepped back. Again and again, that little dance. Her back finally hit the wall, her eyes darkening. He could smell her desire, like the finest and muskiest perfume.

“I am not going to fuck you sweetly,” he said, his voice low.

Her body began to lean into his, but he kept his heaving chest just inches from hers. A needy whimper escaped her lips. His cock twitched at the dirty little sound.

“I am not going to ease my cock into your wet pussy with tender words whispered in your ear.”

She sagged against the wall, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from reaching for her. She’d moved her finger from her clit and replaced it with two fingers, plunging them deep inside her vagina. Her eyes flickered down to the girth of his penis and she added a third.

“Callum,” her gentle voice begged. “Please.”

“I am going to thrust fast and hard into you and tug at your hair and bite at your nipples until you come screaming.” His voice was almost shaking at the end. “But I’m not going to stop. I’m just going to fuck you harder and faster and rougher, and you’ll claw at my back begging me to never stop.”

With hooded eyes and tits shining with a glisten of sweat, she looked up at him.

“You better stop fucking talking and do it.”

He grinned wickedly. In one swift motion, he planted his strong hands on her waist, lifted her and slammed her down on his painfully throbbing cock. There was the sound of her back slamming into the wall as they both groaned in the hot, unmoving air of the castle hallway and then there was just the sound of their heavy breathing as Callum did just as he said he would.

Her fingers clung to his shoulders as he slammed again and again into her. She whimpered against his neck as he yanked at her curls, damp from the sweat on her back. She gasped as he scraped his teeth against her nipple and squeezed the other between his fingers. His arm supported her ass as she writhed against the stone wall. With each harder and faster thrust, she grew louder and more desperate.

He felt her tighten around him, her thighs clinging to his waist and her nails digging into his skin as she came. But her scream came when he gave her not a moment’s time to come down from her orgasm, but instead did as he had promised her and kept fucking her through it. Her head fell back against the stone, hair falling into her eyes, which had fluttered closed while Callum preyed on her neck. To his surprise, she seemed to rally; her eyes opened, she hefted herself up, and then she looked down at him, eyes hazy and dark, cupped his neck and ground her hips down as he thrust up, driving his cock even further inside of her.

She wanted more. She wanted all he could fucking give her.

So he gave it to her. He panted as she moaned his name again and again. Her whole body shook and he felt his legs shaking as he himself drew nearer to his climax.

“Fuck, I’m…” she gasped. “I’m gonna come again.”

He pinned her tighter against the stone to keep her up, grabbing both her wrists and holding them above her head right on the wall. He looked at her, debauched and writhing and moaning his name. Her chest heaved, reddened tits bouncing with each thrust.

“Come,” he ordered. “I want to watch you.”

Her mouth fell open and again the delicious heat around his cock tightened, and after driving his dick deep inside her one last time he came at the same time she did. He rested his head against her breasts as his hips twitched and his heart thudded. Delicate fingers intertwined in his hair, and he felt her press her lips gently to his head. He kissed the swell of each breast and she shivered when he swirled his tongue around her still peaked nipple.

She let out a succession of small breathless laughs until finally Callum had the energy to look up at her.

“You sound happy,” he managed to croak out.

“Oh I am. I’ve never been fucked by a duke before,” she said with a grin.

He shook his head and winked. “I’ve never been fucked by a world-famous painter.”

She smiled and played with his hair as he pressed more sweet kisses to her chest, relishing the swell of happiness in his own chest.

“You’re staying,” he said.

She hesitated, then said, “I can only stay for a few more days. But if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”